I see where scientists now say that people might live 20 percent longer by cutting a normal intake of calories approximately in half. They base this finding on experiments with the diets of rats, although I notice that nobody seems to have asked the critters if they would have preferred extra time to pursue hobbies in their golden years or simply more chow.

This would make a great musical, based on that classic show and movie, “Oliver.” Imagine a white-coated lab scientist playing the part of Mr. Bumble, refusing second helpings to a bunch of juvenile mice. His tiny charges then rise up in protest, singing the immortal song, “Food, Glorious Food.” Maybe we can get that little Stuart guy to play the lead.

And it’s only a matter of time before the research becomes an infomercial. I envision a product called “Ultra Ultra Thinquick.” It’s very thick, creamy, and yummy-looking, making a positively delicious picture as it pours into a tall, cool glass on your TV screen. It has no calories. Drink 10 of these a day and live to be a 100-year-old peeping foodie who clips pictures of chocolate cake from back issues of Bon Appetit.

Which would lead, inevitably, to a whole new class of pornography — cheesecake. Real cheesecake, that is. Pictures of full-figured slices, revealing a tempting expanse of smooth, silky sour cream topping, mounds of luscious cream cheese filling, and a dark, sweet underside discreetly peeking out. And none of your calorically skinny strawberries, either, unless they’re well covered up with syrup.

Personally, I’d rather have the real thing. There may be plenty of people who, given the choice of living an extra 15 years by starving themselves, would grab it. I’m not one of them. OK, maybe I’ll suffer a deathbed conversion and moan, “I knew I should have thrown away those Maida Heatter dessert cookbooks.” But I don’t think so. After all, this isn’t about just avoiding Twinkies and pork rinds to regain your high school figure, or trying to give the old ticker a break by cutting cholesterol. We’re talking half the calories from a normal diet. How many American couch potatoes are starting from a “normal” diet?

I’m all for healthy eating, mind you. I even exercise — when work, dinner, relationships, etc. don’t interfere. Yet I keep thinking about how totally great it is that putting fuel in our bodies can be so much fun. After all, one doesn’t have to be a food snob to appreciate eating. Let’s face it, what Mother Nature wants us to do she makes pleasurable. Why else do you think millions of years of evolution has brought us to Ben & Jerry’s?

I guess I’m not ready for that “lean and hungry look,” which, bless him, Shakespeare so disparaged. If all the world’s a stage, it would be a tragedy to cast chocolate as the villain. Eating is a pleasure that adds charm and depth to life. I don’t want to throw away all of that and become a hungry grouch for decades on end, just to put up with another few years of rumbling stomach and refusing dinner invitations.

Sure, I could stand to lose an inch or two from my waist, but a moderate diet is a different kettle of bouillabaisse from semi-starvation. Take away anticipation of even the occasional ice cream cone or cheese-slathered slice of pizza (what do you think it means to cut a normal intake of calories in half?) and I know that I sure wouldn’t have as many reasons to get out of bed in the morning.

One may not live by bread alone — we can’t neglect cakes and cookies and pies — but it certainly adds more to life than just calories. So I don’t plan on completely swearing off the butter just yet; old mice may not be happy mice.

— Chuck Bernstein is a free-lance writer in Arlington, Va., who thinks way too much about food. His e-mail address is chucklynn@erols.com.